Time and Time Again
by girlfromgraz
Summary: Wherever Eowyn Amell and her companions travel, pain follows and weakens her, even makes her unable to fight. Her companions are clueless and in those moments of leisure, everyone has his own theory concearning their leader's sickness.
1. The First Time

_Note: Distances are based on something Wynne told my char the other day. I can't remember her exact words, but it went something like "[…] it's been over a year since you left the Tower."_  
_Hope you enjoy it!_

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**The First Time**

The first time it happens, the three of them are ten days away from Ostagar and on their way to Lothering.

"Templar." Morrigan's voice calls him back.

Alistair makes a face before turning to face her. "What?"

Instead of an answer, the woman jerks her head back the way they have come.

There, quite some paces behind them, is their third party member. For a girl who has only known the inside of the Circle Tower until recently she has been doing quite well, fighting darkspawn and all that. It takes Alistair a moment to see what Morrigan is aiming at. Eowyn's head is lowered to the ground and her steps are slow and unsteady. While they are watching, she staggers and falls down on her knees.

Back they run to where their leader has gone down. She has gone white in the face and though her skin is cold, sweat covers her brow.

"Eowyn! What is wrong?" Alistair's worried voice cuts through the fog that has descended on her.

She fights the darkness that threatens to engulf her. Alistair has knelt down at her side and catches her as she looses the struggle and her body collapses.

"Looks like we're not going anywhere today." Morrigan's cold remark is the last thing that cuts into that fire and pain and agony that fills her world.

She is in no form to argue and Alistair and Morrigan decide they will stop for the day.

When the pain finally starts to ease she is curled up in a tight ball beside a fire, covered in both her own and a second blanket.

"What happened back there?" Morrigan inquires.

Lifting her head, she can see the other woman sitting on the opposite side of the fire.

"We looked you over. You seem to be quite fine," she continues. Then, after a pause, "But I do know that my mother's healing isn't infallible."

Eowyn shakes her head.

"That fool over there says that it's some aftermath of the Joining."

Under her blankets, Eowyn shrugs.

"I told you", Alistair's triumphant voice reaches her ears.

Silently, Eowyn curses her body. 


	2. The Second Time

_Here is part two of my story. The other chapters will follow soon as they are almost finished.  
Hope you like it!_

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**The Second Time**

The second time the pain comes they are in the Circle Tower. For some time, Eowyn is able to leave her hurting body behind as she steps into the Fade in search for her companions.

When she finally returns from that world that is not hers, she finds a body she barely recognises. Pain and agony twist it like a doll. Before she can stop it, a cry of pain escapes her lips.

"She's back," a voice calls. It's deep, it must be Alistair's. So he has returned from the Fade as well. Good. Then, there's another voice, cold and distant. Morrigan's. And a third; that one all soft and sweet. Leilana's. They are safe then.

But the state her body is in prevents her from savouring her relief. Instead, it twists her face into a mask of pain. A sudden movement close to her alerts her. A sword is drawn. Reflexes she never was aware of before take over. Her hand grips an arm, brings her close to another face.

"Listen," she hisses, "I'm not gone."

Her tortured brain filters the information her blurred eyes gather. There's a nose, a mouth, the rest of a face. Chin covered in stubble. And a pair of eyes. Blue ones? No, not blue. She can't remember the name of the colour. The eyes show worry. And more. Concern. Fear.

"I'm not gone," she repeats when she finally finds the words. "Not yet." The last is but a breath that escapes her lips, but he hears it.

"It's her," Alistair's relieved voice informs the others while his insides cringe at her words.

For a moment, she really has scared the shit out of him. As they had sat there, waiting for her to return from the Fade and watching her empty body, he has wondered what it would have been like to lose her to the Fade. It isn't a path he is prepared to follow. Not anymore. Morrigan still calls him templar now and then, but here and now, in the midst of this massacre, he finally realizes that he would have never been able to fullfil such a task. The few days they have spent in the Tower, fighting their way through masses of abominations and templars gone mad have shown him bits of what it must be like to be a mage. Spending the whole life in this golden cage. Always under the watchful eyes of the templars. It would have driven him mad within a year.

Even now, he can see these fears and dreads in her eyes. The frantic grip that crushes his wrist tells the same story. And her words, too. Part of him thanks the Maker that his life did not run down that line. The other part feels sorry for his fellow Warden, for the life she must have led.

Then, Leilana is at her other side.

"It's good to see you back," she says.

Alistair feels Eowyn's grip on his wrist weaken. He notices how awful, how exhausted she looks.

"Can you walk?" he inquires.

"I guess," she replies and struggles to get up. She is unsteady, but her feet manage to support her body. Slowly, she makes for the door.

The way back down from the Harrowing Chamber takes them ages. Eowyn more drags herself than walks down stair after stair. They cross rooms and hallways where she lingers for some minutes, leaning heavily on her staff. The others belive she tarries because of happy memories. She lets them believe.

Finally, they reach the ground floor. She informs the templars of their victory. The First Enchanter supports her tale. Relief floods her weary body and she staggers. Only her firm grip on Leliana's shoulder keeps her knees from giving in.

"The Fade has worn you out, my friend," Alistair hears the bard address Eowyn. "Let us rest here for the remainder of the day. We can move on tomorrow."

For an instant, Alistair gets the impression that Eowyn is going to argue with her. But then Irving invites them to spend the night in the tower and she accepts the offer.

All of them are tired from the fight. Especially Eowyn is so worn out she just collapses on one of the beds without doffing staff and armour. As Morrigan refuses to help and Leliana is occupied with the cooking, the task of aiding her falls to Alistair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he supports Eowyn's limp form with his left arm and shoulder and removes staff and cowl with the other hand. With his help, she manages to crawl under the blanket.

A weak "Thank you" is all that tells him she still is concious. After a moment, she opens her eyes to look at him and adds "We did it."

Alistair forces a smile on his face. "Yes, we did it." His eyes travel over her face. "You look terrible," he tells her. "I know a woman does not like being told that, but you really do. Look terrible, that is."

"I feel awful, too," Eowyn admits. Her voice is weak, but her lips still do curl in the slightest smile. He has to grin.

Eowyn is fast asleep even before Leliana is done with the cooking. 


	3. A Better Time

_So, here is part three of my story. The last of the really short ones. The next chapters will be much longer as the other party members will finally step forward. (Except for Sten, whom I missed on my playthrough. Shame on me, I know, I know.  
And the angst-heavy part is over, too. For now. :-) _

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**A Better Time**

It is evening and they are on their way to Denerim, in search for someone who might know about Andraste's Ashes. This time, Eowyn makes it to camp before she breaks down.

Once she has decided to stop for the night and the chores for the evening are set, she leaves them to their tasks and drags herself down to the rivulet. Washing her hands and face is difficult that evening. Her feet barely support her and instead of crouching near the water, she has to sit on a stone and lean down to reach the waterline. She washes the sweat from her face with slow movements.

"What bothers you, my friend?" Morrigan surprises her.

"It's nothing," Eowyn sighs.

"Of course. You always are as weak as a child."

Despite her pain, a faint smile curls Eowyn's lips. Over the last few weeks, the oh so cold and distant apostate has finally opened up to her. Now the other woman even gets herself to bother over things like her weakness and well-being. Has Alistair after all really been right? Does the Blight bring people together?

"But I will honour your wish if you want to remain silent." Morrigan continues. With that, she squats down near the stone Eowyn is seated on. Eowyn's eyes follow Morrigan's movements as the other woman washes face and hands. Briefly she wonders if Morrigan would know a cure for her suffering. But that would mean telling her. She does like the other woman, but she is not sure she wants to confide in her.

"Now come on," Morrigan's voice interrupts her thoughts once she is finished. "They say supper is ready."

No, Eowyn decides as she gets up. She does not want the other woman to know more than she already does.

"Get some sleep," Alistair advises her much later the same evening. She is lying on her bedroll, wrapped in her blanket and he is sitting nearby. But how in Andraste's name is one supposed to find sleep when caught in a body that burns inside? She meets his eyes and forces a smile.

"Tell me about the Grey Wardens," she begs him.

For a moment, he is tempted to fight her question off with some witty remark.

"I know so little about them," she adds, more to herself than for his sake. And so he talks. He tells her of the other Wardens, of how they had trained together in daytime and shared some beer in the evenings. He tells her of the bits of Warden history he can remember from books and of what Duncan has told him about the Wardens. While he is speaking, her body slowly relaxes.

"Sleep, little Warden," he finishes when her breathing tells him that she has fallen asleep. "Sleep."

The night is warm, but she lies so close to the fire, wrapped in her thickest blanket. Alistair knows that there's something wrong with her despite the fact that Morrigan frequently reminds him of how big a fool he is. He watches Eowyn. And not only because of the reasons Wynne claims he does. Those fits of pain she sometimes is in do worry him. By all rights, her body should have adapted to the taint by now. Oh, she tries to hide it, but the tears that travel down her cheek when she thinks nobody is watching tell another story.

As she did not fool Morrigan earlier, she does not fool Alistair either. 


	4. The Next Time

**The Next Time**

Summer replaces spring. It is hot and the sun is burning down on their backs.

After years in the seclusion of the Tower, Eowyn's pale complexion has tanned for the first time. It suits her. She has shed her mage's robes for something better suited to outdoor travelling and fighting. And more revealing. Alistair barely recognises the little girl he has met but a few months earlier. Before him, he now sees a young woman who is every bit the leader he never would have been. Strong. Fierce. Understanding. And beautiful.

The rest of her party has changed, too. Morrigan has tanned if not as much as Eowyn herself. As has Wynne, finally free from the enclosure of the Tower. Every time Alistair takes off his armour, he gets sunburnt and Wynne has to heal him at night. But the plate armour they have found for him is far too heavy and hot for long walks. Freckles begin to show on his face.

This time, Eowyn manages to fight her body's weakness. It is early afternoon, and she wants to use all the hours of daylight that are still left for walking. Their road is long and in Redcliffe, they dying Arl awaits their return. They have to finds Andraste's Ashes without wasting time. She presses on as fast as she can and uses all the self-discipline she can gather for the task of quenching her agony. She pours all the hate she feels for her body into it, never allowing her step to falter.

Finally, the sun goes down behind the hills. In the twilight, they set up camp at a clearing close by the road. Leliana makes a fire and Eowyn puts her bedroll as close to it as possible.

Leliana raises her eyebrows.

"Are you cold?"

Eowyn makes a face. So much for hiding it.

"I'm always freezing," she tells the other woman while rummaging through their supplies. It's not quite a lie, it's just that right now, she is freezing even more than usual.

Leliana is silent for a moment, all concentrated on cutting an onion for the stew. "Do we have any garlic left?" she inquires innocently. Eowyn passes her the last one and starts cutting the fish they bought earlier into small pieces.

"I knew a mage once," Leliana interrupts the silence after some time. "She was always complaining about the cold." Leliana smiles. "Oh, she was nice." Eowyn can see she's lost in memories. Her features are softer than what she's used to see on the bard's face. The knife has stopped its chopping rhythm and the vegetables she is cutting are forgotten for the moment. "But every time I got close to her, I could feel the chillness of her body, coming off like waves of cold. Just standing close to her, I could feel it. And her hands!" She shudders, returning to the present. Looking at Eowyn, she adds, "She attributed it to her magic and the Fade."

Eowyn gives a non-commital shrug. "I don't know. So much has changed in my live in the last few months, I really don't know what it is. But," she looks at her friend, "it seems I have not fooled you."

"No, you haven't," Leliana agrees. She lets the now fine-cut vegetables slide into the pot on the fire. Bent over it, she shoots a quick glance at her before continuing, "I can see it in your face. The pain. And agony."

The muscles in Eowyn's face harden. She obediently passes the pieces of fish over into Leliana's waiting hand. In the light of the fire, Leliana can see the dark mood on her friend's features.

"I'm sorry for intruding," she confesses. "But it fills me with so much pain, seeing you suffer so badly."

Eowyn nods. "I know you mean well. It's just…" her words trail off.

"What?"

"It's just that I don't want you to believe I am a bad commander." She sighs. "There, I've said it."

"Don't you say that!" Leliana's beautiful voice interrupts her. "You are far from a bad leader. And I've come across some in my time, believe me."

"But how am I supposed to lead you in this state?" Eowyn hisses, pouring disgust into her words. "Look at me! I can barely stand at the moment! How should I fight against anybody right now?"

Leliana puts down the wooden spoon and moves to sit beside her. "We are here as well, you know that? Between the four of us, we will defend you. Morrigan, Wynne, Alistair and me." She squeezes Eowyn's shoulder. "Especially Alistair, I believe."

The smile that crosses her face is mirrored on Eowyn's. "So I am right," she grins. Eowyn nods. Leliana is relieved to see that the harsh lines that have crossed the younger woman's face moments ago are gone and have made place for something so much sweeter, softer.

"He gave me a rose the other day," Eowyn confesses and her gaze travels to where the subject of their talk is going through some exercises. In the last light of the day, all they can see is a dark silhouette against an even darker background, working the sword. He has shed his armour and shirt.

"He really is nice to look at," Leliana chuckles. Eowyn hopes the other woman can't see how her face begins to glow. It still is amazes her how others talk about is so openly. The life as an apprentice at the Tower has not given her many experiences on that field. Sure, there had been the occasional stray giggle here or there once in a while, but the mages and templars had kept them on pretty short leashes. It was said that life would become more private once you were through your Harrowing, but she had not had the time to come to know that.

"Have you ever wondered what it must feel like to touch his bare chest?" the bard continues.

Yes, she has. Every once in a while, at camp, at night when he is going through some practising moves. Eowyn thinks her ears must be on fire by now. The thoughts that have started to wander through her brain these last weeks still do surprise her. Somehow, she even feels embarrassed for having them.

Next to her, Leliana laughs and squeezes her. "Awww, Eowyn, you're so sweet! You've gone all red."

Silently, Eowyn gets up and tends to the stew. But Leliana can see the surreptitious look she casts over to Alistair.

"I am sorry I embarrassed you," Leliana confesses with a smile. And she thanks the Maker that her leader has stopped her wallowing in self-pity. 


	5. Another Time

_ Here's another chapter of my fanfiction! And we finally get to the sweet part. ;-) _

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**Another Time**

They have left Redcliffe behind and are heading for the mountains when Eowyn and her pain meet again. This time, there is no hiding it from her friends. It is late morning and they have broken camp but two hours earlier. And there she is, trying not to bend over double. Her face must show some of the pain she tries to hide and fight so hard, for all of a sudden, Leilana is there beside her.

"There must be plenty of game in these woods, don't you think?" she ventures. "We could use some fresh supplies."

They find a good resting place near a lake and Leilana, Morrigan and their newest party member, Zevran, go off hunting. Wynne leaves for the lake, claiming to use the day as laundry day. Which only leaves Alistair with Eowyn. She hates to let him see how poorly she is today. But there it is, and she can't do anything about it.

Her stare follows his movements as he discards his sword and shield. Step by step he sheds his armour and flexes aching muscles, his mind already going through the moves he intends to practice. As he turns, he suddenly becomes aware of her gaze.

They stare at each other until Alistair breaks the silence. "It's rude to stare, you know," he quips, but the joke is spoiled by the rapid colouring of his face. He turns a deep shade of red as his mind slowly grasps the whole situation. Never before has he felt that naked while still wearing his trousers. And there she stands, staring at his chest. Or rather, through him.

"Come on," he finally finds the courage to break the silence. "You need some rest."

And without waiting for her reply, he takes her bedroll from her unresisting hands. For a moment, his hand touches hers.

"Maker's Breath! Eowyn, you're cold as ice!" he gasps.

Her stare breaks as she hears her name. What has been left of her strength is gone. She feels herself shattering. The ache digs into her stomach like a knife. Her body writhes with the pain and her feat threaten to give in under her weight. But then, Alistair is at her side, supporting her.

"You're freezing," he repeats.

"You're on fire," she retorts.

She doesn't remember moving, but she must have. The next moment, she is in his arms and her head is resting on his chest. And she is trembling.

"Do come," Alistair manages. She does not know how right she is. Of course he is on fire! It's summer, it's hot and there, in his arms, is the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on! How could he not be on fire?

Through her mage's robe, he can feel her trembling and shaking.

"Let's get a fire burning, shall we?"

He leads her to a stone and gently sits her down. He then gathers her bedroll from where he left it earlier. Eowyn watches him through bleary eyes as Alistair fetches his own bedroll too and puts it under hers. He gathers a few branches from around the clearing and sets a fire. Her eyes follow the play of the muscles under his skin.

"Eowyn," his voice cuts in her reverie.

"I'm sorry," she confesses and covers her face with her hands. "I'm sorry."

"For taking the elf with us?"

"For being so weak," she whispers. In that moment, even Alistair understands that joking will do no good here. Bereft of words, he pulls her in his embrace. She doesn't resist. When he contradicts her, she can feel his breath on her head.

"It hurts so much, Alistair. The pain. It's so terrible." Alistair can see that tears start welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm so useless."

"You're not useless." he gently interrupts her. "You're doing good. Really good."

"In this body?" she replies, bitterly. "I hate it! Right now, I couldn't even defend myself!"

Alistair is speechless. How could she say such a thing? He pushes her away from him so he can look in her face. Tears have started running down her cheek and before he can think, his hand moves out to brush them away.

"You're quite impressive," he tells her. "That arcane warrior stuff you just learned? That's really scary. Although," he grins, "you could have told me before using it. It still is a bit freaky, looking straight through you."

Eowyn manages a small smile but it swallowed by the ache that contorts her face.

"Now come on, let's get you warm," Alistair says. What he means is to get her closer to the fire, but his addled brain turns his words and twists their meaning. As his face begins to redden, he gets up and offers Eowyn a hand. Once on her feet, he realizes how weak she is. Barely is she able to cover the short distance to the fire. She leans on his supporting arm and he can feel her cold body, pressed firmly against his. When he finally tucks her into her blankets, her face is red from the effort.

As soon as the hunting party returns from their trip, Alistair leaves the camp for the lake. There, only Wynne comments on his flustered face. But it only takes him some moments before the cold water of the lake smashes together over his head. After some strokes, he is far enough away from the shore. And the cruel old woman. 


	6. The Worst Time

_ Et voila, chapter 6! I hope you enjoy it!  
Any guesses on the "secret illness" of out hero?_

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**The Worst Time**

They are down in the Deep Roads, somewhere near Orthan Thaig. Eowyn is leading her small party through the long avenues the dwarves have shaped through ages of labour. And then, the pain claims her, worse than ever before. Eowyn leans over one of the trenches that side the walkways in the huge halls and empties the contents of her stomach. The three men in her company share bewildered glances.

"Warden," Zevran ventures. "What is it?"

"I'm fine," she tries to fend him off, but they all know better than that.

"I know it is not the darkspawn", Zevran continues. "I know you can stomach them."

Alistair watches as Eowyn takes a sip from their water supplies. He does not like the way she sways, but refrains from saying so.

"I'm fine, really," she tries to assure them. But Alistair can see that neither Oghren nor Zevran believe her. Nor does he.

"Just give me a moment, and then we can move on." She puts her hands on her knees and takes a deep breath. As she turns, intent on resuming their journey, her body betrays her and she sinks to her knees.

"You are in no condition to fight," Zevran observes.

Eowyn casts a healing spell on herself. She tries to get up, but her effort is in vain.

"Help me up," she utters through clenched teeth.

Alistair is at her side in an instant. "Do you really want to continue?" he asks. She nods and casts another healing spell. With his help, she gets back on her feet again. While fighting the black veil that threatens to seize her, she casts yet another healing spell. Shifting her weight from his support to her own feet is difficult, far more than she has expected. Alistair slowly lets go of her, all the time watching her carefully. She manages two seconds before her body falters.

"Ho there!" Alistair catches her falling form. "No more darkspawn hunting for you today, my friend." He tries to sound cheerful, but inside he can feel the icy grip of dreadful fear that seizes him.

In his arms, Eowyn gasps for air. "Fine. Not. Today." She pauses before stating the final order. "Retreat."

And that is what they do. Alistair supports a staggering Eowyn while Zevran and Oghren watch out for any remnants of darkspawn or deepstalkers.

When they finally reach Carridin's Cross, he is carrying an almost unconscious Eowyn in his arms. They have covered the last few leagues like this, after she has finally collapsed. The half-delirious body in his arms twists in pain and unceasingly casts healing spells. Oghren and Zevran walk beside him with drawn weapons, eyes focused on the shadows. Once or twice, Alistair warns them of darkspawn lurking around the corners. Eowyn keeps on casting her healing spells. Looking down, he can see tears streaming down her face. It's strange when she uses her Fade form and one can see right through her. Against the background of his armour, he can see her usually beautiful visage is twisted in agony. It gives him an idea of how terribly a pain she must be fighting.

"She is using much lyrium," Zevran suddenly disturbes the silence.

Alistair nods.

"I have to admit I am surprised she still has got any left."

Another cloud of blue light rains down on them.

"You know her Fade form," Alistair explains. "Lets her draw mana from there."

"That cannot be good, can it?" After a thoughtful pause, Zevran adds. "Could she be addicted to the lyrium? Because - she did not have much besides it since we came here and-"

"Yes. I know," Alistair interrupts the other. "But that can't be helped now, can it?" He knows that sounds harsher than the elf deserves, but his own chest clenches in fear every time she casts her spell. "What do you propose to do, eh? She's in great pain, barely conscious-"

"Oi!"

"What?" both Zevran and Alistair turn on Oghren.

"Your soddin' flirtin's no good down 'ere. Save it 'til we're back!"

Zevran runs off to alert the others of their coming as soon as they reach the city. Alistair and Oghren follow with Eowyn as fast as possible. Every few steps, they are bathed in blue light as she casts her spell. Curious glances follow them as they cross the Common district of the city. Alistair can hear some mutters of "Grey Warden," but his focus is set on reaching Wynne and her healing powers. He carries his precious burden to the little house they have been granted for their stay and crosses the front room with a few strides. Wynne and Leliana are already waiting for them. He gently lays her down on her bed. As he pulls away, his hands come away smeared in blood.

"She's bleeding. I guess," he informs Wynne. The elder mage looks worried as her hand rests on Eowyn's brow. Without opening her eyes, Eowyn casts another healing spell.

"Oh, for Andraste's sake!" the old lady grumbles. "Stop healing yourself!"

While she moves her hands over Eowyn's body, Alistair lowers himself on the edge of her bed. Behind him, Leliana closes the door and moves to stand at the end of the bed. She notices how tired Alistair looks, both from the exertion as well as the worry for their leader.

"Did anything injure her? Down in the Deep Roads?" Wynne asks.

"I- I don't think so. We fought as usual, with us in the front and her some steps behind us, darting here and there to cast her cones. But I can't remember her getting hurt."

Another shower of blue light illuminates Alistair's distressed features.

"Her healing does not work, does it?"

Wynne looks old and tired in the remnants of the blue light. "No, it does not. Neither does mine, as far as I can see. There is no bone to set, no tissue to knit."

She again turns her full attention to Eowyn and continues her examination. Examining the younger woman's body with practised moves she draws small cries of pain from her. Behind her, Alistair is not sure whether to avert his eyes or watch closely.

When Eowyn casts another healing spell, Wynne explodes. "Will you stop it? It does not work! You will drain yourself, continuing like that!"

She turns to face Alistair and Leliana but continues her rant. "Stupid girl! Harming herself and still continuing!" A closer look at the young man's face shows her his distress and she stops. "You did well bringing her back up. I would not want to imagine what could have happened if you had stayed down there." She shudders.

"It was terrible, Wynne. I thought she'd…" He does not finish the sentence but Wynne still knows what he is trying to say. Leliana shifts and places a hand on his shoulder. "And Zevran insists it's the lyrium that is doing that to her."

Wynne chuckles. "No, Alistair." Despite the earnestness of the situation, a faint smile lights her face. "I can assure you, it is not the lyrium."

While she speaks, the dullness in his eyes lifts and he hangs on her words like a drowning man. Behind him, she can see how Leliana's eyebrows travel up her brow until they are hidden behind her hairline.

"Now. It is warmth that usually helps her, isn't it?"

Alistair only nods.

"Fine. Then Leliana and I will see to that while you think of some way to stop her from spellcasting."

She has already gotten up and moved towards the door while speaking. Only from out of the corner of her eyes can she see how her last few words make him jump.

"No! No, bad idea! I can't. Leliana-" The frantic look in his eyes only underlines his panic.

"Alistair," Wynne tries to soothe him. It still makes her wonder how the two of them are so intent on denying his templar training. For her, it makes perfect sense that Duncan as well as Greagoir and Irving have picked an almost-templar to look after Eowyn. But then, she has never seen the Tower as the golden cage Eowyn depicts it. And again she notices how tired and worn Alistair looks. "You don't have to fight her, just make sure she won't heal herself. It's of no use after all, as you can see. And I am pretty sure they taught you about the risks of draining oneself?"

Alistair nods. "Yes, they have. But I can't-"

"Eowyn would want you to look after her," Wynne interrupts the young man. "And we'll be back in no time. We won't be long." And without waiting for his confirmation, she leaves the room with an unusually silent Leliana in tow.

Another gust of blue light interrupts his distress some moments after Wynne has left the room. Moving over to the side of Eowyn's bed, he seizes her hands. And realizes that he is still wearing his gloves. As he lets go of her hands in order to shed them, she casts another spell. Again, he clasps her hands in his and holds them tight. "Eowyn!" he softly calls out to her. "It's me, Alistair." This feels so awkward. "We brought you back up to Orzammar. You are safe." For now, his brain silently adds. "Wynne says you're to stop healing yourself. So, I just hold your hands so you can't make the sign, right?" Stupid, stupid, stupid! But it works. For some moments at least. Until she tries to free her hands in order to cast the spell, but Alistair is stronger.

"Don't do that, little Warden."

Some part of her brain does realize there's only one person in Thedas that calls her little Warden, but it is already too late to stop the cone of cold that erupts from her hands.

When Wynne returns some moments later, she finds a frozen Alistair sitting at Eowyn's bedside. But the young man has at least had the sense not to let go of Eowyn's hands. So, while she still could freeze him, she cannot heal herself. Wynne smiles as she de-frosts him.

"Getting along quite fine, the two of you?" she cannot refrain from teasing him. With Alistair, sometimes she only has to mention Eowyn and he starts to blush. She hides her chuckle behind the heap of blankets she's rounded up from the other rooms. "Here, help me wrap her in those."

Leilana enters with her hands full of firewood and Alistair seizes his chance to light the fire, thus getting a bit more space in between himself and her. Stripping Eowyn from her armour and wrapping her body in blankets is more than he can bear at the moment. Well, some ideas he is nursing do include the former part, but in no way with any involvement from the elder mage. And neither is there place for Eowyn's illness.

When they are done and Eowyn is wrapped in so many blankets that her small figure almost dissapears, Wynne sighs. "I'm afraid that's all I can do for her."

"Yes," Leliana agrees in her saddest voice. "The stress down there must have been too much for her."

Much later, Alistair leaves the room. After terrible fits of pain, Eowyn has finally gone to sleep and he needs to find something to eat. As he reaches the front room, he finds all the rest of their company there. Even Morrigan. The warmth of the room is like a soothing balm after the hollowness of the Deep Roads. Alistair walks over to the stove where a stew is boiling.

"Ah, Alistair," Oghren bawls when he notices the Warden. "How's the boss?"

Five pairs of eyes focus on him. "She's better," he assures them and adds, "She's sleeping now."

"That's good, that's good," a drunken Oghren replies. As Alistair takes a closer look, he can see all of them are nursing a drink. All save Oghren. Nursing would never apply to him.

"Alistair," Zevran addresses him. Does he sound a bit drunken, too? Alistair wonders for an instant. "Do have a drink with us. Oghren found us one of the finest dwarven beers."

Alistair takes the offered tankard and takes a seat as far away from Morrigan as possible. Which only leaves the place next to Oghren.

"You know what it is, don't you?" the dwarf tries to whisper but fails.

"What?"

"Making her sick and all," Oghren explains, putting a hand on Alistair's arm. Yes, he's definitely slurring. Which is quite an accomplishment, even for Oghren. Alistair takes a sip from his mug before answering.

"It's the lyrium she's using, mark my words," Zevran joins their conversation.

"Shut it, elf! You don't know nothin'!"

Alistair shakes his head and raises his hand. "Whatever you think, you are both wrong, It's got to do with the Joining she went through."

"What?" now it's Oghren's time to be bewildered. "What do you do at your joinings?" The way he emphasises his words draws a mischievous grin from Zevran. "It certainly sounds interesting. Do tell us, Warden."

"No, it's secret." Alistair shrugs off the inquiries from both elf and dwarf. "Which means I won't tell you."

Oghren's eyebrows rise so high they almost disappear behind his hairline. He then clears his throats and starts his lecture, adding significant pauses here and there. "Whatever. You don't know anything, boy. Lemme tell you: when women are sick and faint all the time, it's because they are with child."

Of course, of all the possible moments in time, it has to be in that very instant that the rest of the talk in the room dies down and Oghren's intended whisper can be heard by everyone. Alistair can't help but goggle at him. Leliana puts her mug down with a loud crash. Even Morrigan looks up from her reading.

"Yep. Definitely," Oghren continues with a serious look on his face.

"And how would you know of such matters?" Morrigan's voice cuts into the men's conversation.

In between fits of laughter, Zevran is the next to gain his sense of speech again: "Our friend has obviously not had much contact with humans."

"Let him talk," Morrigan hushes him "I do enjoy the way this conversation is going."

"Now Alistair, you lucky bastard! I thought you'd never get under her blankets! And here you have already!" Oghren continues and plants a firm whack on the young man's back.

Leliana's and Wynne's chuckles reach his ears as Alistair fumbles for an explanation. "I never," he starts, jumping up from his seat. He can feel the heat spreading over his face. Damned dwarf! "How could I-" Alistair starts but breaks off as he hears his own voice. Only that it does not sound like his voice at all.

"Tell me I'm right, boy!" Oghren goes on, oblivious of the others' unbelieving stares and fits of laughter.

"No, of course not!" Alistair squeals. Somehow, the elf and the dwarf have blocked his way to the door. Distressed, he grabs his mug of beer and drains the stuff.

"Oghren, stop teasing him," Leliana finally takes mercy. "She's had those strange attacks since before I knew her, and we met months ago."

"So what?"

"Well, how should she be pregnant all the time? Without showing," she hints as Oghren fails to understand.

"Wouldn't show but much later."

The whole room stares at him open-mouthed. Taking his companions unbelieving stares as encouragement, he start to explain in more detail. "Much later. The last six months maybe; she's athletic. But not in the first one-and-a-half year."

Gasps from around the room stop his talk.

"Just how much beer did you have?" Morrigan asks at the same time as Leliana exclaims "How long do dwarven women carry a child?"

Oghren squints.

"A human pregnancy lasts nine months," Leliana explains. "There's no way you could be right."

"Are we seriously having this conversation?" Morrigan wonders.

"It is the drug that makes her ill," Zevran leans over the table and raises one hand in order to emphasize his words. "Such substances are never good for the body. Even though they do give nice experiences."

"And you would know all there is about such substances?" The ring of Morrigan's voice leaves no doubt as to what she thinks of Zevran's words.

"Of course I do. The Crows are renowned for their employment of poisons, herbs, toxins and drugs."

The rest of the evening, Morrigan and Zevran try to best one another with their knowledge of toxic and poisonous substances.

The next day, Eowyn is better again. But she is still weak and they spent another two days in Orzammar before resuming their search for Branka. 


	7. The Last Time

_Well, well, well. It seems my chapters keep getting longer and longer…  
So, here is the next one. I hope you like it!_

* * *

**The Last Time**

King Harrowmont's reign is but a few days old when they leave. Despite the snow, Eowyn has decided to set off for the Circle Tower this late in the year. It takes them a week to travel a distance they usually cover in two or three days. Once they are out of the Mountains, walking gets easier as the paths are no longer covered in waist high snow. But then it starts to rain. All the roads turn to trenches of mud and they get thoroughly soaked. Eowyn is not aware of the risks of travelling in wet clothes until Alistair points it out to her. He tells her of illnesses and she listens to his strange words. Of course, she has read about such things, but she has never before seen them in the Tower.

Some hours before the sun sets, their road takes them through a small village. Urged on by Leliana and Alistair, she agrees to stop at the local inn for the night.

The landlord meets them in the common room, thoroughly eyeing their little party before approaching them.

"Welcome, welcome, my ladies," he addresses Wynne and Eowyn beside her. "What do you require?" He seemingly has decided them worth the effort. And wealthy enough to pay for his services.

"We would like lodgings for the night," Wynne states. Even though its has been agreed on, Eowyn is hard put not to stare at Wynne's strange, almost regal behaviour. But she checks her astonishment. After all, she does not know much about inns and such. In this case, she had decided it would be wiser to let Wynne do the talking.

"Of course, my lady," the landlord accedes. "I have two formidable rooms for you and your daughter. And will two rooms for your – ah, escort suffice?"

Eowyn suppresses a chuckle and behind her, she can hear her friends doing the same. Wynne, however, keeps her masquerade and informs the landlord that such an arrangement would be perfectly suitable.

Half an hour later, Eowyn finds one of her wildest dreams come true. The landlord has ordered two servants to prepare hot baths for the lady and her daughter. She does not have to wait for long before they bring hot water up to her room and prepare a bath in the stone–tub that sits in one corner. Eowyn has seen these tubs on her journey over the last year, but never before has she had the pleasure of bathing in one. She sighs contently as she lowers herself into the hot water. Ah, she could get used to that. Goosebumps form on her cold skin and she enjoys the warmth flooding her body.

"I heard the most beautiful young lady of Ferelden has been assigned this room," a voice suddenly disturbs her leisure.

She turns to face him, resting her chin on the brim of the tub. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Definitely."

He has taken off his armour and is wearing loose trousers and a shirt. No shoes. It's not much out of the ordinary, but she loves this new style of his.

"I do like that new look of yours." The words have left her mouth before she can stop them.

"Really?"

"Yes. It's…" She searches for the right word. Her teeth graze her lower lip as she tries to overcome her timidity. It does look sexy, but she still hesitates to say so.

A grin splits his face. With one move, he seizes the only chair of the room and moves it before the door, blocking the doorhandle.

"Oh, but what will my dear old mother say to that," she breathes, putting her hand over her heart in mock distress.

"Well, she shouldn't have left you on your own then, should she?" He crosses the room and lowers himself in front of her. "Have I already told you you're beautiful?"

"Well, not today." Eowyn blushes. Alistair leans in for a kiss and she tousles his hair with her wet hand. After he breaks the kiss a huge smile splits his face.

"You so got me under your spell," he grins. "You know that?"

The sun has gone down when Eowyn and Alistair finally join the others in the common room. A few knowing glances are shared as the two Wardens sit down at the table. Obviously, they have failed to meet the rest of the party in time for their supper. Now, all that is left on the table are a plate of olives, some cheese and mugs of beer.

But the landlord who has joined their party for a chat knows his trade.

"Rose, bring food for our guests!" he shouts before either of them can ask for it. While they wait for their supper, the talk on the table centres on the weather and the hard rains winter has brought. The serving maid brings two mugs of beer, bowls of hot stew and fresh bread. It is rather delicious compared to what they have shared since leaving Orzammar.

"The two of you eat as if there's no tomorrow," the landlord laughs at their appetite.

"Yes, they have a famous hunger," Wynne smiles wryly.

Eowyn's spoon freezes on it's way halfway up to her mouth, Alistair's right in front of his. They both stare at her over the rims of their bowls in alert. Before entering the inn, they have agreed not to proclaim their Warden–status. It would allow them all a peaceful night if the people in the village believed them to be just another bunch of travellers.

Luckily enough, Zevran saves the day.

"Have you ever heard of the famous appetite of a Grey Warden? In Antiva, we have this saying that two Wardens eat as much as six ordinary people."

"Sure have. I sheltered one once," the landlord agrees. "Stayed here two nights. Ate so much I thought he would explode!"

Leliana and Zevran laugh as the landlord relates his encounter. While chewing on her food, Eowyn glances over at Alistair who has turned red at Zevran's bit of wisdom. She is not sure it really is a saying in Antiva, but it usually is a running gag at their camp. Most of the time, the target is Alistair since Eowyn does not blush so violently.

"There's word that two Grey Wardens have cured the Arl down in Redcliffe of his illness," the landlord now confides in them.

"Really?" Eowyn manages, wide–eyed. Alistair takes a huge gulp of his beer, hoping to hide his red face.

"Why, yes, young lady. My wife's old aunt, she lives in the village. And me wife's spent autumn with her."

"So, what does she say?" Leliana inquires. And, adding in her most innocent voice, she breathes "I love heroic tales." Her huge eyes and open stare encourage the landlord to share the gossip with his guests. The man evidently loves to talk. As he turns his attention away from the petite woman and back to his audience, she grins at Alistair. He hides his gaze in his mug of beer again, followed by Eowyn. Oh, the two are so sweet to tease! Especially now that they've finally seen each other's affection for the other and have shared a bed.

"The word is these two Wardens are the only ones left in the whole of Ferelden. They even say one of them's a woman!" Clearly, the landlord has his doubts about that.

Oghren empties his beer soundly and gestures for another. "So, you know anything 'bout them?"

"Sure. The man they say is tall, a true warrior. His body's all muscles and sinews. But his face is wise and proud. His hair is golden. As is his armour, mind you, and he carries a huge, two–handed sword covered with magic runes."

"That was Cailan, you fool," Alistair mutters under his breath. At his side, Eowyn giggles. And even Morrigan's composure threatens to crumble as she fights a laugh. Next to the landlord, Wynne smiles behind her hand.

"He crushes his enemies with his bare hands, they say. And hurlocks tremble under his gaze and flee the field. And the wife's aunt says he's the handsomest man of the whole of Ferelden," the landlord continues, oblivious to the general fits of laughters and giggles.

"You heard that," Eowyn pokes Alistair's side. "And I've got him under my spell."

His fingers itch, but he does not dare kiss her here, in the midst of their friends. And the landlord. But she is sitting so close to him he can feel the heat of her body. Her smell is still in his nose and the memories of the last hours are still fresh. He can see it in her eyes, too.

And then, Eowyn's fit of boldness fades as she sees the look in Alistair's eyes. The frankness she can see in there makes her blush. Breaking his gaze, she takes a deep swig from her beer.

"What about the other Warden?" Zevran inquires.

"Ah. The wife says she's a mage."

"Truly?" Zevran pushes him.

"Yes, it sounds strange, I know."

"But would a mage be allowed to join the Grey Wardens?" Leliana casts a doubtful smile at their host.

"I'm only a poor landlord, I wouldn't know about such things, my lady. The wife says she's all fierce and strong of will, like one of the warrior queens of old. And she's beautiful. With eyes cold as ice and long hair red as fire."

"She's like a shield maiden out of the stories, husband," his wife cuts in, bringing fresh beer for all of them. "Brave. Fearless. Bold. And she's more beautiful than the queen. They say, she can have a man or ten in every town they pass."

Darting a look around the table, Alistair can see that all of their companions are hard put not to burst out in laughter now. Oghren already has tears in his eyes, and even Morrigan's resolution has shattered. Eowyn hides her embarrassment behind her mug of beer.

"A shield maiden out of the legends. I like that," he whispers. "But I love you hair the way it is." She has started wearing her shoulder–long hair in a pony tail the day they fought the darkspawn at Ostagar. "And I won't share you with anybody."

Behind her mug, she giggles like a teenaged girl. The beer has lowered her guards and made her more casual. Putting down her tankard, she fiercely challenges the landlord. "What would you say if I told you I were that Warden?"

"You, my lady?" The landlord laughs out loud. "No offence, but you're not her. How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen? No, you're too young to be a Grey Warden!"

"I'm twenty–two," Eowyn mutters under her breath. But she knows the slow aging of mages has already set in.

"Besides, who of your party would be the other Warden? The elf? The dwarf? Or the boy next to you? He's not much older than you yourself, is he?"

Eowyn nods her head in accordance. She has to credit him that. Out of their armour, they all do look far less frightful.

"Forgive my daughter," Wynne cuts in. "She has such a temper, always dreaming of adventures and noble deeds. My girl."

"Oh, the young people," the landlord crows. "My own girl was like her when she was her age."

Soon, the incident is forgotten and the talk has turned to other topics. Eowyn and Alistair both have a second filling of the cook's excellent stew. The landlord refills the mugs of beer again and again. They all enjoy Zevran's story of a Antivan princess who saves her firstborn in a riddle–game and Leliana's recital about one of the shieldmaidens the landlord's wife has mentioned earlier.

Later on, the landlord excuses himself. "But please, do not believe you have to retire for the night just because of me," he assures them. "Do stay as long as you like. In case you need anything, do ask Rose."

As soon as the man is out of earshot, Leliana howls with laughter. "Oh, that was superb! 'You're too young to be a Warden, young man'," she imitates the landlord.

Oghren joins in with her laughter. " 'His hair is golden'," the dwarf mimics him. " 'And he kills darkspawn with his gaze'. Love to see that one day, Alistair!"

Wynne brushes a tear from her cheek. "Yes, that was priceless."

"But really — the handsomest man in the whole of Ferelden? Truly, I'm hurt!"

"Oh, my dear Zevran," Leliana purrs. "Don't be offended."

As usual, the whole of their party takes delight in pestering Alistair.

"Great warrior, you head will explode if it gets any redder," Oghren cries, making them laugh even harder.

After a long day without much to eat, the beer has made Eowyn audacious.

"Well, wouldn't a shield maiden out of legends chose any other than the best man in Ferelden?" she asks her friends. They all know what has happened between her and Alistair these last few weeks they have spent in Orzammar and since. She has overheard almost all of them teasing Alistair about it – especially Oghren and Zevran. But still, they have all kept quiet about it around herself. "Of course, she wouldn't," she tells them and shifts to sit on Alistair's lap.

The beer has had it's effects on Alistair, too. His hands sneak around her waist and squeeze her tight.

"And you can stop your jokes about purity, Oghren," Eowyn stabs a finger in the dwarf's direction before turning to face Alistair. She worms her hands around his neck and lowers her head to his. She knows his reaction – he wouldn't mind her kissing him now if that is what she wants. Gently, she brushes his lips with hers. Alistair has once kissed her when at least some of the others had been looking, but it had been different. It had been their first kiss, all shy and cautious. They have shared much more since then, but it has all been in secrecy. They both had felt too insecure to openly show their affection. A stolen kiss here, a quick glance or a shy smile there. Now, Eowyn does not care that all of them can see. On the contrary, she wants them to see their happiness. Alistair's hand travels up her back as he catches her retreating mouth and answers the kiss. He tastes of beer, but so must she. Behind her back, she can hear cheers and wolf–whistles from Oghren, Zevran and even Leliana.

As they break their kiss, Eowyn does not pull away from him. Instead, she rests her forehead on his. She is smiling at him and he can feel her breath on his skin. "I don't mind," she mouthes and he knows what she means.

"Neither do I," he assures her. And using his grip on her, he pulls her in for another kiss.

"You know, that reminds me of a story Majorlaine once told me," Leliana's voice cuts into their small world.

"About two Wardens getting a room?" Zevran asks.

In his words, Eowyn can hear the teasing undertone meant for them. She giggles against Alistair's mouth. Even Alistair has to grin at his remark. Leliana has to chuckle, too.

And as the evening wears on, Leliana and Zevran spin their beer–induced tale of two heroic Wardens travelling through the wilds. Of course, the story soon deviates from defeating the Archdemon and instead focuses on other things as Oghren and Zevran start supplying more and more juicy bits. They start some sort of drinking game over it as they empty their mugs every time Alistair's face reddens. But they readily ask Alistair to cover their questions on Warden history and their peculiarities and he does not mind answering them. At least not that much, since Eowyn has not left her place. And as long as he's got her in his arms, he can bear their teasing. Eowyn has huddled up against his chest and from there, she listens to their story, here and there supplying information on the mages' background. Leliana adds romantic bits and pieces and soon, they all roar with laughter. Wynne has retreated to bed earlier, leaving them to their 'hormone–induced and immature ideas', as she puts it.

When Oghren and Zevran start another drinking game, Eowyn decides to retire for the night.

"I know who's not going to get much sleep tonight!" Oghren howls and accompanied by his and Zevran's laughters and suggestions, she and Alistair take their leave.

The next day, Alistair wakes in a real bed. In a real room. With a fast asleep Eowyn on his side. He gently removes her hand that rests on his chest and shifts his position. She mutters in her sleep but does not wake. Alistair can't help the broad smile that splits his face. She is so sweet! It still amazes him how such a lovely thing can be his. He has been attracted to her for a long time but has never dared to believe that she would feel the same for him. And yet, there he is. Naked and sharing a bed with her. The Revered Mother might have her ideas about love and relationships, but as the lightning has failed to strike him until now he is fine with it. He must be the luckiest man in Thedas.

Absentminded, he traces her jawline with his index finger. Eowyn stirs and her features darken.

"Sorry," he breathes.

Eowyn whimpers.

"What is it, little Warden?"

Without opening her eyes, she rolls over and ends up enveloped by his body, her back pressed against his chest.

"You know, I could get used to that," he mumbles into her ear. But instead of a smile, another wail escapes her lips.

"Bad dreams again?" Her body does take surprisingly long to adjust to the taint.

She shakes her head. But the way her lovely features contort and she holds her body tells him all he needs to know. "It's that pain again, isn't it?" he asks. Eowyn nods. She seizes his arm and wraps it around herself.

A loud snore from next to her brings Leliana back to the waking world within an instant. Her eyes snap open and she immediately regrets it. The light is far too bright for her bleary eyes and the dull pain in her head explodes in agony. She covers her eyes with her hand and notices that she is completely naked. And then, there's that snoring again. Her numb brain finds it hard to remember who that could be. She takes a deep breath and regrets it instantly. The stench in the small room and the weird, dry feeling in her mouth make her gag. She shifts to her side as her stomach threatens to empty itself. As if to make her day even worse, that brings the origin of the snoring into her field of vision. Oghren! In a bed next to her! For a moment, she even forgets her nausea. She struggles upright and fights with the bloody beast of a blanket that refuses to cover her. While she fights the covers, her brain slowly processes the next information. She is not alone in her bed. A blond head lurks forth from beneath her covers, almost slumped over the rim of the bed. Zevran.

Slowly, the events from last night come to her bleary mind. The common room. Eowyn and Alistair. Teasing them. Spinning that epic tale. Lots of beer. The Wardens leaving for a room. Zevran and Oghren talking her into staying. More beer. More innuendos. Herself longing for some company. Endless banter that would definitely have made Alistair's head explode. Stepping outside and on returning not taking her old place again. Inviting herself onto Zevran's lap. She remembers Zevran's look. Not startled at all. Content and eager. And Oghren. Yeees.

She remembers the three of them stumbling up the stairs. Only with joined forces did they make it. Then almost barging into the wrong room. A yell from inside. How did Oghren put it? Mounting the griffons? Then finding the room the landlord has reserved for Oghren, Zevran and Alistair. Well, one of them surely wouldn't need it. She remembers Zevran snatching her up and throwing her on the nearest bed. Oghren throwing off his clothes. She sure had not imagined… that. Zevran. Maker's Breath. He truly knows how to please a woman. Human. Humanoid. Whatever.

Groaning, Leliana tries to get up. Thankfully, the room stops swaying after some moments. But the taste in her mouth is terrible and her stomach still thinks about rebellion. Sighing, she puts on a shirt thrown over the bedpost. Zevran's. Well, he won't miss it. Judging from his position, he's still out cold.

On wobbling legs, she makes for the door and steps out of the room. And finds herself face to face with Alistair. Who looks like he has seen a spirit.

"Bucket," she manages.

Alistair points down the short hallway. "Last door." Leliana notices he sounds funny but her body demands her whole attention. Stumbling down the hallway as fast as she can, she leaves a bewildered Alistair behind.

It takes him one or two minutes before he can move again. Did Leliana just come out of the room he's been given together with Oghren and Zevran? Curiosity gets the better off him as he eases open the door Leliana has not shut completely. He recoils as the stench hits him. Alistair casts a glance into the room. His mind struggles with the new information. There is Zevran, lying on one side of the larger bed and Oghren's in the smaller one. Numerous clothes litter the room.

Wynne has enjoyed the night's rest in a real bed. She feels perfectly rested and refreshed. Even though the thin walls from the inn have let quite a few significant noises pass throughout the night. She changes into her robes and washes her face in a bowl of water. Oh, the young people. The air has been thick with hormones these last few days. In fact, ever since their stay at Orzammar. Eowyn and Alistair have been dancing around each another much, much longer; almost since the time she has met them in the Tower half a year ago. Those two at last have finally resolved their tensions. But in the last few days, the whole rest of the party has been high on hormones, too. And last night, Wynne has decided to retire as soon as she could, despite herself enjoying an easy evening with the others. And judging by the nocturnal disturbances, she has been right to.

When she returns from her breakfast, she finds Alistair in the hallway. He does not notice her but instead keeps on staring at the door at the far end of the hall. Behind it, she can hear someone retching and choking.

"Alistair? What is it?"

Her words startle him. "What?"

"You look like you've seen a spirit."

"Rather a walking corpse." He shakes his head, trying to forget whatever it was that had him startled.

Wynne passes him and heads for her door. So, so, the whole night? She does not even bother to hide the smile that curves her lips.

"Um, Wynne?"

"Yes?"

"Um, we've got some sort of a problem."

"That's Eowyn retching down there? And here I thought Grey Wardens would not be in need of contraceptives." She chuckles.

"What?"

Yes, definitely hit a nerve there. The way his voice pitches, she understands why he's always the target of someone's teasing.

"No, no, no! That's so not it!" He backs away and waves his hands in denial. "Well — yes. But no, not what I meant! So not."

Interesting. So it is true? She has heard rumours concerning the barrenness of Wardens. "Well, what do you want from me, then?"

"Eowyn. It's her pain again."

Wynne stops on her way over to her room and sighs. "You know there's nothing I can do for her."

"Will you at least have a look at her?"

Casting a look at Alistair's pleading face, she gives in. "Fine. I'll give it a try. But you know there's nothing I can do to help her. There's nothing wrong with her body. Now, let me into her room." He opens the door for the elder mage. "And send for some tea. And breakfast for her."

Shutting the door behind her, Wynne seizes the only chair of the room and moves to sit between the bed and the window. The room is the same design as the one Wynne has been given. It's rather spacious compared to what they have been used to at the Tower. Besides a huge bed, there is place enough left for a small dressing table complete with a small mirror, a chest, the chair Wynne has occupied and a small stone tub. She surely could get used to that.

The small shape on the bed moves to face her.

"Wynne."

"I'm here." she affirms. "What is it?"

"I can't go on today," Eowyn mumbles into pillow.

"You know I can't help you," she states. Her stern gaze surveys Eowyn's face.

"Yes," the younger woman manages. "But I'm afraid I am no good for you like that."

"You know what causes it?" Wynne barely manages to hide a sudden rush of anger that fills her. As much as she has come to love the younger woman, that secrecy unnerves her. But then again, she has to remind herself that Eowyn no longer is an apprentice of the Tower. Wynne puts it on her age that she sometimes forgets who the young girl in front of her really is.

"Yes," the younger woman acknowledges.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"No."

"So where does that put us now?"

"I'm sorry."

Eowyn hides her face in the pillow. Was that a tear? Wynne shakes her head. "You realize you really scare us every time you do that?" She is aware of a hardness in her voice that usually is not there. In her bed, Eowyn cringes. Wynne can see the sweat that covers her face. "You really did put the three men in danger last time, you know that?" A tousle of reddish brown hair nods in agreement. "And you really had me worried, that way you kept on healing yourself! You could have drained yourself completely! It was dangerous."

"It did not help."

"No, it did not help! Because there is nothing there that needs healing!" Wynne emphasizes. "What are we going to do with you, girl?"

Eowyn takes a moment to reply.

"Tell the others we will stay here for today."

"Well, at least you finally found your common sense. Or is it Alistair's doing?"

"What's my doing?"

Alistair has returned with one of the maids who is carrying a tray. She moves to the other side of the bed and places the tray on the mattress.

"Breakfast, my ladies," she informs them. "Porridge, bread, honey, nuts and dried fruit. And the young man told me to bring some tea. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you," Wynne replies. "My daughter is not feeling well today. Would you be so kind as to inform the landlord of our plan to stay for another night?"

The maid nods in agreement and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Only after she has left the room does Alistair move. He covers the few steps from the door to the bed and sits down at it's foot end.

"Gosh — that should be enough?" he asks after inspecting the tray. "By the way, what's my credit?"

"That she's finally seen some sense."

"Definitely my influence," he grins. Wynne replies his smile, Eowyn only grumbles into the mattress.

"You know, there is one thing you could try."

Two pairs of eyes find her. Eager looks ask her to continue.

"I remember overhearing Zevran offering certain services to Alistair the other day."

Alistair shifts uncomfortably.

"Really?" Eowyn asks.

"Yes—"

"Do you really want to know?" Alistair interrupts Wynne. "After all—"

"—he claims to have knowledge concerning certain herbs and such." Wynne ignores Alistair's interjection.

Eowyn's puzzled gaze shifts from Wynne to Alistair. Alistair helps himself to a bread roll and spreads it with butter and honey. Both Wynne's and Eowyn's eyes follow his every movement. His hopes of evading the subject shatter even before Wynne loses her nerves. "Come on now, Alistair. Do tell her!"

He takes a bite off the roll and takes his time chewing while forming his words in his head. Then, he sketches the conversation he has had with Zevran the other day. He can still see the lines of laughter on Wynne's face. Eowyn it seems is in no mood to amuse herself with his encounter.

"Do you think he'll be able to help?" she asks. A look at her face wipes the smiles from Wynne's face. Eowyn does look terrible. Her face is white, her teeth clenched. Sweat stands on her forehead and her hands dig into the bedclothes. Wynne sighs and gets up.

"We'll do the same as last time," she decides. "Alistair, you keep her warm and see to it she has some breakfast. I'll talk with the others. And ask Zevran."

Moving to the door, she turns once again and points a finger at Alistair. "Which should in fact be your job, Warden." With that, she leaves the room.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alistair vexes. "She isn't right, is she? What's my job?"

"Making decisions when I'm out. Now shut up."

Zevran claims he knows what might help Eowyn. Unfortunately, he does not have the required root. Neither does Morrigan.

So, the party stays for another night. And especially three of them are very grateful for the rest.

It is the last time Eowyn's body wrecks with pain and agony. As the party travels to the Brecilian Forest and into it, all she feels is the blissful absence of pain. 


	8. Changing Times

_The second-to-last chapter of my story. Includes the solution to the one question that motivated the whole rest of the story: Why does Eowyn suffer such pains?_

* * *

**Changing times**

It is a warm day in Denerim. The rains have finally ceased and the first warm sunbeams find their ways through the clouds. The spring weather at least does not mirror the impeding doom that hangs over the country.

They have been in the city for some time now, waiting for the nobles of the country to gather for the landsmeet. As there isn't anything else to do but wait, Leliana talks Eowyn into a shopping trip. The three men decline instantly, but both Wynne and Morrigan decide to join the two other women.

At first, Eowyn is hesitant, but then it turns out a marvellous day. The four of them start with a turn of the market place. After a visit to the Wonders of Thedas, they cross the river and follow the broad street that eventually leads all the way up to the Fort. The road is lined with shops on both sides. In front of some of the houses, merchants display their goods at their stalls. With the approaching war, the street is crowded with people both citizens as well as travellers and refugees alike.

They slowly wander along the road, frequently stopping and admiring exhibited goods. Eowyn spends some of the money they made by selling the rest of the loot they have found along their journeys. There's a pair of dancing shoes for Leliana. Both Eowyn and Wynne laugh hard as in her new shoes, Leliana seizes Morrigan for a little dance around the shop. Surprinsingly enough, Leliana does not get turned into a frog. Instead, Morrigan only pulls away after some turns. Then, there's this pair of earrings that Morrigan admires at one of the stalls as well as a book for Wynne.

Of course, they visit some of the seamstresses and merchants dealing with fabrics, too. After some initial hesitation, both Eowyn and Morrigan relax and follow Leliana who is browsing through the offers. At a seamstresses store, she finds a wounderful dress made of fine orlesian silk. Leliana urges Eowyn to try it on. A young girl leads her off to a tiny cubicle shielded from the rest of the room and helps her get dressed. Eowyn has never before in her life been allowed to wear anything else but the robes the Chantry provides for young mages. She loves the dress the moment the merchant's apprentice leads her over to a large standing mirror. After not only Leliana but even Morrigan tells her it's beautiful, her determination shatters and she buys it.

"Oh my, Alistair will be really stressed if he sees you in that," Wynne comments with a smile.

Trailing along the road, Eowyn has to admit that she's really enjoying herself. As the day wears on and her stomach starts to rumble, she decides to return to the Arl's estate. Wynne is chattering about the book. Next to her, Morrigan's hand wanders to her earrings from time to time. Leliana is bouncing with energy as she flutters around her companions.

"When will you wear that dress we got you?" she babbles.

Eowyn shrugs as she hasn't thought about it yet.

"Oh, I know!" the bard exclaims excitedly. "There will soon be a coronation! It will be perfect!"

"And the king will fall over drooling." Morrigan's voice is almost as cool and distant as usual, but a sly smile plays around her lips and eyes.

Leliana throws her hands up. "Oh, Morrigan, you do know–"

The rest of what Leliana is going to say is lost in a loud uproar. On their way back to the estate they have left the large street thronging with life and taken a shortcut that has lead them into smaller and less frequented alleys of the city. In one inattentive moment, the four women are encircled by street toughs. Morrigan yanks her stave from her back, followed by Wynne and Eowyn. Leliana has left her bow back in the estate. She unsheathes two daggers partly hidden under her tunic instead. Eowyn casts a blizzard over the archers in the background while Leliana and Morrigan engage the nearest swordsmen. Out of need and desperation, Eowyn tries to cast her Fade shroud. And shouts in frustration as it refuses to work. She casts another storm instead, this time one made of fire. As ususal, Wynne tries to keep herself in the background, hitting immobilized targets with stone fists. And in between her attacks, she heals the other three women. Leliana engages the swordsmen nearest to them while Eowyn frantically throws cones of ice and fire at them.

As her mana supply runs low, she tries her Fade shroud again. It has not worked properly for some time now, but as she could really use its surplus powers now, she keeps on trying against all reason. Around herself, she can hear Leliana's shouts and feel the tingles of Morrigan's and Wynne's spells mixed with the cries and screams from their attackers. In a desperate attempt that takes the rest of her mana supply, she finally succeeds with her spell. A surge of energy pulses through her body as the Veil between herself and the Fade thins. Power soares through her weary body as it touches the lyrium reserves of the Fade. With renewed energies, she freezes the three people attacking Leliana. They have already been weakened by Morrigan's virulent bomb and a swift move from Leliana finishes them off. Eowyn focuses on the next target before the limp bodies have touched the ground.

They fight valiantly, but it does not bode well. The four travellers have been taken completely unaware and unprepared, not bringing their whole wargear along for the shopping trip. While casting yet another winter's grasp, Eowyn can feel Wynne going down under the assault of one of the swordsmen. Leliana shouts in rage and Morrigan joins her. The two women take out two more, but their foes are numerous. Morrigan manages to cast another virulent bomb, but her strength is spent. Before Eowyn can heal her, the other woman is hit by an arrow and sinks to the floor.

"Eowyn!" Leliana's shout reaches her ears. Quickly, she redirects the prepared healing spell to the rogue. Collecting all her remaining strength, she showers their foes in cones of fire and cold while Lelianas's knives glide through the immoblized bodies, shattering them and sending them to the floor.

Finally, the last one of them goes down. Leliana is panting hard. Eowyn sways from the effort and the energies that have soared through her body. At a groan from the ground, the two women quickly move over to where Morrigan tries to get back up on her feet.

"I need healing," the black–haired woman utters trough clenched teeth.

Eowyn complys her request while Leliana helps Wynne to get up.

"Well, that went rather badly, didn't it?" the mage states while healing herself. Looking up, she remarks "Oh, you use you Fade shroud again."

Eowyn winces. So at least Wynne has noticed that she has been having some difficulties with the spell for some time now. As a means of avoiding to talk about her spell, she goes through the posessions of their fallen enemies. She finds coins worth almost her new dress and some weapons that might be sold for a nice amount of money. Returning her attention to her companions, she finds all three of them staring at her.

"What?" she asks, raising her hands. "You have seen me doing this before."

Instead of an answer, the usually so talkative Leliana just points at her. "You're…" she lets her words trail off.

"See–through–y? I know, and so do you."

Leliana shakes her head. "No, not that," she slowly stammers.

"So what is it?" Eowyn asks again. "Why are you staring at me?"

Morrigan's blank look tells her nothing and she shifts her attention back to Leliana. But the bard fails to meet her eyes as her gaze is lowered to something below and behind Eowyn.

"Oh my," Wynne finally mutters under her breath.

"What?" Eowyn's voice rises to an alarming height as her friends refuse to exlpain their behaviour. "Stop freaking me out! What. Is. It?"

"Eowyn," Leliana points at her middle.

And looking down her body, the young mage finally gets what her companions are staring at. There, right inside herself, sits a small, solid speck the size of her thumb. And she does what she has never done before. Not at the sight of a horde of werewolves nor a brood mother or a dragon. She bolts. Leaving her friends there in that dark alley she turns on her heels and runs as fast as she can. Her staff is hindering her and she drops it. It's the new one she's only bought recently and a small part of her scolds her for it.

"Eowyn!" Leliana shouts. She starts to run after the other woman but Morrigan holds her back.

"Wait. Give her some time."

They gather the purchases dropped earlier and make their way back to the Arl's estate.

"Did I just imagine–" Leliana breaks her silence when they have almost reached the estate.

"You know you did not," Morrigan interrupts her impatiently.

"No, you didn't," Wynne confirms. She has not yet overcome the first shock and dozens of feelings soar through her.

"Oh, this is wounderful!" Leliana laughs. "They are so sweet. And now that!" Her gestures reveal how excited she is. "Oh, do come on, we have to get back to the estate!"

"It could have been just a speck," Wynne muses.

"Have you ever seen a speck on her Fade form?"

"Oh, do come on, both of you!" Leliana cries in excitement. "Don't make such long faces!"

Back at the estate, Leliana runs up the stairs and straight into the library.

"Oh, Alistair, I'm so happy for you!"

"What is it?" the subject of her joy asks in bewilderment as he is swept into a tight hug. "Have you finally found another royal bastard for the throne?"

"Of course not, silly!" Leliana cries, letting go of him.

"Damn. For a moment, you had me hoping."

"Don't worry, we all know about it! Morrigan and Wynne and me–" Alistair is pulled into another bearhug. "I'm so happy for both of you!"

Shifting his gaze from the redhead to Wynne Alistair asks, "Have you been at Zevran's weeds?"

The odd look Wynne gives him tells him his charms have not hit the mark this time.

"Leliana, leave the poor boy alone," she hushes the excited bard. "I guess he does not know."

"Know what?"

Leliana only squees with both delight and vexation.

"Eowyn has not returned yet?" Morrigan queries.

"I don't know," he admits, puzzled by the women's strange behaviour.

"Well, then you haven't heared the happy news yet." Coming from her mouth, it does give an ill foreboding. Already moving for the door, he can hear her muttering "But don't expect me to start knitting playsuits."

"Morrigan!" both Wynne and Leliana shout. Yes, they must have heared it as well.

"You must have been at Zevran's weeds," Alistair repeats. It can be the only sane explanation for the women's behaviour. Great! As if Arl Eamon did not think their little party insane enough yet. Well, they have certainly gone up the scale. Again.

"Wait," Leliana alerts them. "You haven't seen her returning?"

Her eyes find Wynne's and in unison, they run for the door, leaving him alone and very confused.

Wynne has been standing closer to the door and so has the shorter distance to cover. Leliana meets her in front of the room Eowyn has been given for their stay. She casts a glance at Wynne. The older woman gives a curt nod. Leliana raises her hand and knocks. But gets no reply. Taking a deep breath, she opens the door.

"Eowyn!" she calls out softly. "May we come in? It's Wynne and me."

She takes the absence of a reply as an affirmative. Stepping into the room, she scans it for her friend. Behind her, Wynne enters and shuts the door. They find Eowyn crouched on the floor in front of the huge standing mirror. She has cast her Fade shroud again and her body is shimmering translucently. Leliana moves to sit next to her. As Eowyn raises her head to look at her friend, Leliana can see she has been crying. Her eyes travel to where Eowyn tries to cover the small speck inside her body with her hands. At her friend's gaze, she lets her hands sink and Leliana can see it clearly, without the distortion caused by her hands. Gently, Eowyn caresses it with one hand while a sigh escapes her lips.

"Eowyn," Leliana whispers. She moves closer to comfort her.

After some moments, Wynne covers the distance between her and the other two women and lowers herself to the floor on Eowyn's other side. All of a sudden, Eowyn lets go of the Fade shroud. Turning to face Wynne, she looks her straight in the eyes. Wynne shivers at the determination she can see in there.

"Can you heal it?"

Wynne's insides turn to ice the moment Eowyn asks her question. Opposite herself, Leliana's face mirrors the same horror she can feel. But she forces herself to supress the bewildered exclamation that threatens to slip her lips.

"You know there's nothing to heal," she tells her in the most reassuring voice she can manage.

Eowyn shifts her gaze from Wynne to the floor but remains silent.

Leliana clears her throat. "How long since…" She does not have to finish her question.

"I thought the Elves healed me." Eowyn wispers. "I thought they healed my pains!" A sob escapes her lips and she covers her face with her hands.

"So all the times you were passing out on us and such, you were just suffering from…" She gestures with her hand in search for the right words. "Monthly pains?"

Shaking her head, Wynne takes her into her arms. "Come here, child," she tries to soothe the younger woman. "Even Elves can not heal you from that. You know it and knew it all the time."

"But the Revered Mother!" Eowyn cries. "She told me! She told me there were cures."

Wynne shares a bewildered glance with Leliana. The other woman just shakes her head.

"They said I had to suffer. Because of my red hair." She jerks at one strand of her hair. It has grown long since she has left the Tower and she usually pulls it back into a ponytail.

"And they told you about cures to your pains?" Wynne is so cross she does not manage to completely hide it from them.

"Yes, they did," a small voice confesses. "They said…" Eowyn breaks off and takes a deep breath before again speaking. "They said that being with a… a man helps. But it didn't!"

Were it in any other situation, Leliana would have laughed out loud. But instead, she pulls Eowyn into another hug. Behind Eowyn, she can see Wynne shaking her head. Then, the mage changes the subject. "You have not used your Fade shroud since the Brecilian Forest."

"It didn't work," Eowyn admits. "It felt as if something remained here while the rest of my body was there."

"So you stopped using it," Wynne muses.

"Yes."

"It has been quite some time with all that travelling to and fro."

Eowyn only replies by nodding her head. After some minutes, she withdraws from Leliana's arms. "I was planning to make him king." Misery is written all over her face and it is clear to see that she fights tears that threaten to fill her eyes. "I wanted him to be king," she repeats again and shifts her gaze to Leliana. "But I don't think he will if he finds out." Letting her words trail away, she gestures at her stomach. The disgust Leliana can see on her face almost brings her to tears. Inside Wynne, something shatters and breaks with every sentence the young woman voices.

"Don't talk like that," Leliana pleads. "It is a gift!"

"A gift?" Sarcasm and disgust fill her voice. "How can it be a gift?"

"Eowyn," Leliana interrupts her. "Don't say such things! When I saw you today, I was so overjoyed — I never thought you wouldn't be. Even now, I can't understand why you are not. Especially since you are both Grey Wardens. This is a gift, a miracle! Don't you feel even the tiniest sparkle of joy?"

Eowyn takes a deep breath, steels herself before answering. "You do know the answer to your questions. Both of you do. There's the Blight to quench, an Archdemon to fight and only the two of us left to do so. And, if against all odds and chances, we will survive the fight, he will be king and I carry the bastard he surely never wanted. And if all that were not enough, I am a mage, Leliana! If I will survive the Blight, will the templars really let me keep this child? No, I don't think so. A child born to a mage belongs to the Chantry." Her voice threatens to break as she struggles on. "It will grow up an orphan. No, worse! Because its parents won't be dead!" She has started shouting over those las few words. Taking a deep breath, she continues. "Does it really matter what I feel in here?" She touches her chest above her heart. "I would love to join in your happiness. But I really don't dare. Now tell me, Leliana, how can that be a gift?" Her composure has finally shattered, her voice broken. Bitter sobs now wreck her whole body and tears stream down her face. She has pulled up her knees and curled into a tight ball, burying her face in her hands.

Wynne gulps and fights tears that threaten to fill her eyes. In those eyes, Leliana can see the pain that confession has caused her. She herself is so shocked that for a moment, she cannot even find the strength and confidence to comfort her friend.

"My child belongs to the Chantry," Eowyn whispers as if to herself.

"Eowyn?" Alistair's voice suddenly disturbs them. It is uncertain and unsteady. In combination with the dull look on his face Leliana knows that he has heared at least some of what Eowyn has said.

With a few strides he covers the distance between them and kneels down in front of Eowyn. Gingerly, he places a hand on her shoulder and repeats his question.

At his touch, Eowyn uncurls and throws herself at him. "You were supposed to be barren!" she frantically shouts at him. Fury shows on her face as she hammers against his chest with her fists. But it is desperation that drives her. "I was supposed to be barren!" Alistair gets hold of her hands and pulls her so close she can't move them anymore. When Eowyn's anger dissipates she just molds deeper into his embrace.

"Um, I would ususally say I'm sorry but you know, somehow I'm not." That special grin of his that splits his face is even huger than usual. "You will have to lock me in the castle's cells if you want me to be king now," Alistair tells her, his voice bubbling with elation, his eyes shining bright with joy. "Or chain me to the throne. And forge the crown onto my head. Even better, into. Otherwise you won't succeed with your plan." After a pause, he asks, "You really meant what you said earlier?"

Eowyn nods but keeps her head buried under his chin.

"So do I," he continues. "I never wanted to be king. I would've put up with it before if you had pushed me hard enough, but I won't now."

"I'm a mage," Eowyn states.

"So? I know everyone thinks me a fool– No, don't object, anyone of you. Morrigan is right. I am an idiot. I even needed Eamon's help to get the message. But I do know that I won't let anybody get between us. Not Eamon and his schemes, not the Grey Wardens nor the Chantry or the Tower or the templars!"

"But it belongs to the Chantry," Eowyn repeats.

"Stop talking like that," Leliana interrupts her almost before Eowyn has finished. When she is sure of their attention, she continues. "Don't say that ever again. You are blessed by the Maker, Eowyn. Both of you are. This child is a miracle. The Maker will protect it and show you a way. And if you don't find that way, no one will."

Eowyn disintangles her hand to squeeze Leliana's arm. Turning from Leliana back to Alistair, she muses, "Do you think the Wardens will let me– let us have the child?"

"As Leliana has told you, it is a miracle. At least Duncan has once told me I will not be able to have a family. So…" He shrugs.

"Oh, so now Duncan knows everything?" Wynne interrupts, smiling.

But Alistair only laughs at her. "I don't care, Wynne! I really don't care. As long as this–" He pulls Eowyn close to him, then lets her settle down against his body again "–is real, I don't care who objects."

From outside the room loud noises reach them. A crash followed by loud shouts. Alistair pulls a face. "I guess, Eamon just had a heart attack. Again." But that specific grin that makes him so special shows on his face again after only some moments. "Shall we tell him now?"

And for once in her life, Eowyn decides to be completely selfish. 

* * *

_Author's Note: Yes, I had my fun with those poor guys. And thanks to my beta-reader, there will be one final chapter. I hope to get it finished and up in one or two weeks._


	9. In Due Time

**In Due Time**

Despite the destruction and devastation the war has left behind, it is a wounderful day. Half of the city's houses are burnt down and the streets littered with debris and still, Denerim glitters like a diamond. A dirty diamond, admittedly, but a proud one none the less. The people of the city have been working hard to clear away the worst for her grand day.

Her coronation.

As the dinner draws to an end, the last golden sunbeams bathe the huge hall in warm light. Everything has been arranged to emphasize and flutter her presence today. Looking at her now, her subjects percieve their queen bathed in rays of golden light.

But most of the time, the eyes of the guests invited for the celebration do not linger on their queen, but on their saviour instead. The Hero of Ferelden, as they call her now. Anora has liked the young woman at first, has even regretted the circumstances under which they have met. Even now, after Eowyn has executed her father, she still respects her and for some part – though grudingly – accepts that today, fame has to be shared between the two of them.

The tables have been creaking under the weight of the food the kitchens have prepared for the guests. In all the mess the war has left behind, her staff has managed to procure some of the most delicious meats, fishes, fresh vegetables, bread and other goods. And of course, the people out in the streets have not been forgotten. Free bread and potatoes have been given away to the crowds earlier the day. Not as when Cailan has been crowned king, but there had been peace then.

Now, four servants enter the hall, carrying a heavy tray on which a huge cake is set. The confectioner has outdone himself with that one, inventing a special cake for the grand day. It is thickly iced with sugar coating and topped with real red roses. Exclamaitions echoing through the hall let her know how deeply impressed her guests are.

As it has been agreed on before, the servants set the tray down in front of the table reserved for herself and the most noble guests. It is not by mere coincidence that the red roses on the dessert match the ones embroided on her dress as well as the tiny ones weaved into her hair. Her wardrobe has been designed with the same alacrity and everything has been arranged according to her outfit. It should have been the most exquisite of all, more beautiful than anything else the other women are wearing today. Her seamstresses did their best to invent a new cut that flatters her form, used the best silk that can be bought for money and adjusted it perfectly to her figure. But who would have guessed that the Warden, usually clothed in those filthy and revealing Tevinter mages' robes and baked in dirt and blood, almost steals her show?

Yet there she sits, next to her companions in battle, looking so very beautiful and innocent. None of the pepole who have not been in the city while the war had still lasted believed that this was the very same young girl who had ended the Blight. But today, even she and her warriors have managed to change into respectable clothes. The young Warden has already drawn many admiring and appraising glances in the red dress she is wearing today. But it is obvious for everyone to see that any admirer's time would be wasted on her. She has been holding her lover's hand throughout the whole grand event. And just after the coronation ceremony, they had snuck away into one of the darker corners for a few kisses. Oh, how happy they looked! Some of the nobles who had noticed expressed shock and judged it ill behaviour, but Anora does not mind. She knows what she is sure almost none of the other nobles do: that their source of happiness is at the same time the sole reason that today, they are celebrating her coronation and not his. For that thing alone, she is in a mind to let them do whatever they want as long as it is discrete.

When Anora had withdrawn to her room at Eamon's estate the evening after the Landsmeet, she had been trembling with rage. Hours before, she had had to stand by and watch as the two Wardens had executed her father! She had loved him even though in her heart she had known that he had been responsible for Cailan's death. And watching him die there like a dog had ripped open new wounds after the ones inflicted by her beloved husband's death had finally started to heal.

That evening, Eowyn had come to visit her. Anora still rememberd how terrible the young mage had looked that night—weary, exhausted and worn out, as if she had been crying. At first, she had tried to fence the woman off, but Eowyn had been firm. She had forced her to listen. She had had much to say and eventually, the whole truth about her motives at the Landsmeet had seeped through. At first, Anora had not known whether to laugh at the irony of it all or strangle the young thing. Later on, she had realized just what she had been told. After two miscarriages, Anora had had some knowledge on the matter of threats for the growing child forced upon her. And she had been deeply impressed at the young woman's resolve to see the whole thing through.

"My queen," one of her ladies–in–waiting interrupts her thoughts, "Will you allow the cake to be cut?"

Anora nods and waves the woman away.

After the dessert, a bard begins his play. He is a lanky man, handsome enough with his green doublet, the little cap with the huge feather pinned to it and the almost elven look. According to her ladies–in–waiting, he is one of the best bards in Ferelden, if not even the best. Anora has to admit that they are not exaggerating. She is pleased to see he knows court manners too, as he first greets her with a flourished bow before adressing the rest of the guests. And he proves himself a wise man as well as he stays away from recitals that might imply political disstresses. Instead, he entertains her guests with a beautiful tale of a woman who was born a princess, raised as a warrior, trained as a mage and her ill fate.

While she is listening to the bard's tale, the young queen lets her gaze sweep over the assembled guests. When she finds the two Wardens at the back of the crowd, her eyes are pulled to a stop. Before the last battle, there had only been a few rumours about an unsuitable love affair. But since the Archdemon has been slain, it is obvious for even the blind and deaf. Anora has spent some time wondering if such a union would be allowed in the ranks of the Grey Wardens. During her days spent at Eamon's estate, she has had enough time to ponder the issue and study the three Wardens. From what she could observe she had been uncertain at first. The two young ones had tried to stay away from the senior Warden and treat him with as much respect as the Arl and herself. But one evening, she and Riordian had come back from a stroll through the gardens and had found the whole party in agitation. The witch of the wilds had looked more sour than ever, the old mage had all of a sudden become sappy, the bard had been all smiles and laughters and the dwarf had been even more drunk than usual and shouted for celebrations. Even the elf was tipsy and tormented Alistair with whatever lewd sexual innuendos he could think of. Alistair's face was as red as the dress Eowyn is wearing today and still he was glowing, radiating joy. Only Eowyn herself had looked exhausted and had tried to hide the fact that she had been crying. Later, Anora had understood what had transpired that day. And so must have Riordian. Before his death, he had dispatched a message to Weisshaupt. Anora's secret informants had secured a transcript of the letter. In it, the senior Warden had informed his superiours of an affair between the two Wardens and in firm words had written about a child. A child seemingly conceived from two tainted parents. While he did not say so explicitly, Anora knew how to read between the lines. He certainly did not approve of it. And once reinforcements from Weisshaupt will reach the city, there will be harsh words, ill feelings and possibly more.

Both of the Wardens are now sitting next to each other on one of the benches that have been pulled up around the bard. Eowyn is curled up in Alistair's arms. With her thoughts still bent on Riordian's letter, anger starts to fill Anora. How could the old Warden condemn an innocent life? If the rumors about the Wardens' lack of fertility have proven untrue, shouldn't they be overly excited? Her anger threatens to bring memories of her own ill fate to the surface. Oh, how hard she had tried to produce an heir for Cailan! And all those old fools could think of was how to punish these young people for their happyness!

"My lady?" one of the Arls adresses her, interrupting her thoughts.

Anora forces her hands to unclench and smile at him.

"It is a most pleasant evening, my queen. It is true what they say about the bard—he really is the best of them all."

"Indeed." another one of the guests of high honour interjects. "It is a pity he has not yet written about the battle and the slaying of the Archdemon."

Anora forces her features to remain smooth. Just for once, it would be a blessing not to have the Wardens brought up in every single idle conversation! But fate, it seems, does not grant her that wish. Anora forces herself to reply "This is no big surprise, my lords. We all know next to nothing about our heroes."

"But you, my queen—is it true that you have spent some time with them at Arl Eamon's estate?"

"It is indeed. But I have not spent much time with the warriors." Her tone should have told them that she does not wish to talk about the Wardens, but the fool does not understand.

"Of course, my lady. Of course. The best of my men have been present at the gates of the city the day the young Warden held his speech and—"

Anora stops listening. Instead, she finds herself remembering her first days at the estate. Back then, they had tried to keep their affair well hidden from the others. Eowyn and Eamon had even talked about marrying Alistair and Anora as if none of them had been present in the room! She shivers as she remembers their scheming. Sure, the boy is good–looking enough, but Anora despises him for reminding her of her beloved Cailan with every word he says, every move of his body, every look on his face. Even now, he still reminds her of him. And it hurts and at the same time confuses her. Is she to hate him for killing her father? Is she to love him for avenging her husband? Is she to— Oh, it does not matter now. All that does matter is that thanks to a tiny spark of life, she has been spared the fate of marrying him. That one fateful day, when everything had changed. Eamon had suffered a heart attack while the rest of the house had been transferred into a beehive. That night just after the Landsmeet, when all of a sudden everything had started to make sense.

Anora feels her face starting to twist into a grimace unsiutable for the newly–crowned queen. But—a child! She is not exactly sure of what she feels, but she knows part of it is envy. Envy at their happiness, their love, their child, their family. And underneath her envy, there is sorrow, strange as that seems. Sorrow at what she knows lies in wait for them. The mages will spit bile and venom once they understand that there will be a child. Anora knows that since the Tower has been built, every single child who has been ill–fated enough to be born to a mage has been taken away from it's parents. As far as she knows, the mages are still unaware of the current developments, but time will soon tell them. And they will certainly not be as gentle with the young mage as the Wardens.

When the bard has finished his play, the benches and tables are pulled to the sides of the hall to make space for the dancing. As the bard cannot be persuaded to take up his harp once again, two musicians take over. They start with a happy tune and it does not take long for the first couples to form and step in to the music.

Among those not joining in the dance is the Revered Mother, an old lady with a frail body but a mind sharper than any blade. As Anora watches her, she shares some words with the young Chantry priestess in her tow. Following their gazes, Anora is not surprised at the objects of their surveillance. The Wardens again. They have stepped to one side of the hall when the dancing has started. Even from her place at the far end of the table, she can feel the joy and elation seeping from them. And so must the Revered Mother. Does she know?, Anora wonders.

"My queen," the young Teryn of Highever adresses her. "May I ask you for a dance?"

And glad for the interruption, Anora willingly accepts. Following the complicated steps of an Orlesian quadrille, she lets herself be sweeped away from her thoughts by the Teryn and the dance.

Later in the evening, the Teryn of Highever reclaims her from the Arl of Denerim and after two dances, escorts her to one of the benches along the walls of the hall. As they catch their breaths, a servant offers them wine.

"Here's to you, my queen," the Teryn toasts her.

Anora nods her head before taking a sip. "My Lord."

While engaging in some polite small–talk, Anora lets her gaze wander. When it comes across the Revered Mother sitting in her chair by the fire, her good spirits sink. The old Mother's face is even sterner than ususal and her gaze is cold, icy. The lines that cross her wrinkled face are so hard it makes her shiver. Taking a sip from her wine, she notices that the young Chantry sister has left the place next to her. Anora searches the hall for the distinct gown that marks her, but she knows she won't be able to find her. Her heart clenches in sorrow and she can feel sadness welling up inside her. So her spies were right, as usual.

This morning, a secret note has reached her informing her of the message the Chantry sisters are planning to deliver to the Divine in Orlais. Anora sighs. She knows what they are going to tell the Divine. A child, conceived from the union of a mage and a Grey Warden. The Chantry won't let that happen if there is any way to prevent it.

"My Queen?" the young Teryn interrupts her thoughts. "Is everything alright?"

The concern she can see in his eyes is real and she forces a smile on her lips.

"Yes, my lord." She gives him her best smile and raises her glass. "Let us drink to all those who fell to save us."

The young Teryn nods his head.

And here's to you, tiny spark of life, Anora silently continues. Already am I indebted to you though you're not even born yet. May you live, little one. May you live to see that world your parents saved for all of us.

But as the months pass by and spring once again returns to the land, Anora vainly tries to gather news about the two Wardens, the Heroes of Ferelden.

* * *

  
_This part concludes my story about Eowyn and the strange pains fate has in store for her.  
Of course, the characters and places belong to Bioware. With the exception of the bard who was written with Andrzej Sapkowski's congenial Dandeloin in mind and I thought it only suitable that he should sing about Cirilla, Princess of Cintra.  
I only loaned them for playing with them. _


End file.
